"STICK 'EM UP!"

It's easy to find a gun-fight around here.

Remember, we live 20 minutes from Tombstone. This IS where the real historic wild west took place and many people today love to keep it alive.


Last week was Rex Allen Days: A big deal weekend with parades, a fair, booths, rides, food and shows. We even had a friend of ours get inducted into the Cowboy Hall of Fame. (Did you know that a Cowboy Hall of Fame even existed? Well it does: right here in our backyard.)


Hayden had the closest encounter with a gun-fight show he's ever had.
It went a little somethin' like this:



Hayden hung-out with the "bad guys" before the show, not realizing that they were about to "rob a bank" (*wink*).

It started off with the usual yelling back and forth between the bad guys (who just got caught in the street)...

...and the good-guys coming to stop the crime.

PS: Don't miss the Cowboy Poetry at the museum ! (Look in the background.)

Hayden watched intently as his new friends yelled back and forth. He really got into it and even chimed in--screaming along with them, "Ya, you guys!"

"Shhh! Watch the show," we quickly calmed him down.

And then, of course, the shooting. One character taunts too far which sets everyone off in a shooting rampage. Amid the loud shots and gun smoke, a few casualties start to fall.

Hayden wasn't so sure about this part. He wasn't expecting that! He looked back at me with a startled look on his face and started to wimper. I grabbed him, put him on my lap, and explained what a SHOW is (while the "motherly guilt" set-in).

The actors came back over to him after the show was over. "I'm so glad you're okay!" he dramatically yelled as he threw his arms around the waist of the bank-robber.

After giving him a handful of empty shells, taking a group picture, and exchanging some high-fives, we were able to go our separate ways without the need of any continuing therapy.

("Whew!")

Skillz

It's no secret that I do all the home improvement projects in our home.

Whether it's painting walls, hanging wainscotting, patching holes, or building bookshelves, if I want something done I have to just pick up my tools and do it myself.  In fact, Ben bought me a pink tool belt a couple of years ago for Christmas.  That same year I mistakingly bought HIM a portable compressor and a set of air tools (which actually ended up being mine).

Moving to a farm suddenly placed us in a completely different culture (sharing and enjoying those experiences was the initial inspiration for this blog).  I realize that the rest of the country is becoming more and more "fuel conscious" these days.  People are trading in their big SUVs and/or opting for more fuel-efficient vehicles.  Suddenly "Estimated Miles Per Gallon" means more than "Towing Capacity" everywhere else.

That's not happening here.

Not because people here aren't as conscious about rising gasoline prices (far from it), but between "primative roads", rough terrain, and horse trailers, here a truck is as necessary to a Farmer or Rancher as a cell phone is to an Office-Going-Businessman in the city.

Someday I will be in the market for a truck-frame SUV .  In the meantime, though I continue to "make due" with my four-door compact sedan (which by the way gets 34 miles to the gallon.)  *sigh*

Last week I had to run down to the local hardware store for more lumber in order to set up another quilting frame for The Blanket Project.  Carrying my 8-foot long bundle of boards, I walked out to the car and popped the trunk.  I propped the lumber up against the bumper and got to work.  With the back doors and truck open I scurried around the little car on a mission.  Dropping down seats and moving a booster seat around I was intently focussed on my goal.

Within minutes, the long 1 x 4's were settled in the car with all the doors closed.

Voila!

It wasn't until I heard a voice from the left that I realized I had an audience.  Two local Ranchers were leaning up against the back of a truck watching me.  Taking a break from their own conversation, they were probably expecting a good show as they exchanged bets on whether or not I was going to make this work.

"We were WONDERIN' how you were gonna get those long boards into that tiny little car!"

Feeling mighty triumphant, I flashed my dust-covered "hippie" flip-flops and yelled back before jumping in the car,

"I've got SKILLS!"

*Photo: www.curtrich.com*

Cowboy Hats: Function vs. Fashion

Everyone around here wears a cowboy hat. And I mean EVERYONE.

Have you ever seen the movie "City Slickers"? Billy Crystal's character decides (while shopping with buddies for "cowboy attire" before they start working on the guest ranch and driving cattle), that he is going to be true to himself and wear a baseball cap instead of the traditional cowboy hat.

For the movie trailer, click HERE. (but give it a couple minutes to download.)

By the way: There is one of those "Guest Ranches" not far up the highway from where we live. Sometimes when we drive in the wee hours of the morning, cattle will be standing on the road. I weave my way through their herd while honking my horn.

When I moved down here, I decided that the location of my home will not define me. For example: Just because I live on a farm does NOT mean that I am going to start wearing bib-overalls. I am not going to start changing my likes and interests just because of where I live....I am my own "me".

My husband agreed.

Which is why he initially always wore a baseball cap around the ranch. However, we learned a lesson quickly about hats. Although they are a trendy accessory in other parts of the country, down here people wear them for a reason, and it isn't in the name of "fashion".

Ben wore his cap for a week. After that time he was convinced to try a cowboy had by the horrible sunburn on his neck and the top of his ears. From the first day, he was instantly in love with his cowboy hat. There are two main reasons (that WE have discovered) which supports the idea that wearing a cowboy hat makes living on a Farm or Ranch more comfortable.

Protection: The design of a cowboy hat is meant to shade your face, neck, and tops of the ears from the sun, yet is curved up on the sides for shoulder clearance.

Comfort: The hat height has a function too. As your head sweats, the vents in the top of the hat breathe, creating a sort of "cooling system" for the top of your head (which therefore affects your body's overall temperature). This is also the reason why you see cowboys wearing bandanas around their necks (see picture above). Yes, it is true that you can use it to cover your face from wind and dust, but you can ALSO get the bandana wet with water. As it sits on the back of your neck it (once again) creates a cooling effect.

That's it.....
From now on, I'm wearing my cowboy hat to the beach!

"Damn Yankees!"

I was born and raised in California. Ben likes to tease me because we realized recently that...

I was raised by Hippies.

My parents were older (from the World War II era), but my teachers (K-12) were graduates of the California State College system, and most of their graduation dates landed in the late 60's, early 70's. Graduates of UC Berkley, UC Davis, and UCLA. Until recently, I thought all kids my age grew up like me.

(By the way: I liked this picture because I believe I just may HAVE discovered an actual picture of my third-grade and fourth-grade teachers DURING their hippie years. I DO remember them being VERY good friends.)

I held hands with a boy I had a crush on during "Hands Across America".

I helped color the weather balloon to look like an enormous earth for "Earth Day" (to which we attached letters about dreams of world peace) and let it go at the final count ("3....2....1....PEACE....RELEASE!")

I joined my 6th grade classmates when we sang our hearts out at a school peace rally (for yet ANOTHER Earth Day Celebration). "I believe the children are our future....ooooh, ooooh, ooooh." (Whitney Houston song)

We debated IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL and discussed our political views on world issues such as over-population, global warming, and the devistation of the rainforests.

It was not uncommon for teachers to wear sandals, jeans, and beads to school. They played the guitar during music time, and some wore round "Lennon" glasses and long hair (both men AND women). All in all, the messages and lessons were that of PEACE, LOVE, EQUALITY and TOLERANCE.

I thought every kid did this in school growing up, but apparently not everyone was raised by Hippies.

With this culturally diverse up-bringing, you can understand my suprise when I realized that some people around here talk about Yankees (and it doesn't have anything to do with baseball). I didn't realize that this was still a part of some American conversations 150 years after the civil war. But the way I'm understanding it, though it has nothing to do with attitudes toward race. Rather, a difference in culture. There is a "southern way" that is different than everywhere else; a way of interacting with each other. It's not a bad thing. Look at California. I can say from experience that moving away from Cali introduced me to other cultures within our country. California has its own "way"...it's own personality. Southerners have their own personality too.

It's what makes us US. This country was founded by all these different people coming here for one thing: the freedom to just be themselves. I'm glad we have this patchwork of personalities.

It's a beautiful thing.

Ben was talking to a farmer/cowboy friend the other day. Every once in a while the cowboy would say, "But he's a Yankee". After a while Ben finally stopped him and said,

"Would I be considered a Yankee? I was born in Alaska, but my dad is from West Texas."

The cowboy took his hat off and thought for a minute while scratching his sweaty, matted hairline. As his brow furrowed and his eyes stared intently on the ground, Ben could tell this was a very serious thought process.

"Texas?...(pause). Texas...Aw....yer aw-right, then!" (laugh, laugh.)

Nancy: "Ben....just don't tell him that I'm from California OR that I still sort my garbage for recycling!"

It's bad enough that I get made fun of for wearing flip-flops and a toe ring everywhere. I usually hear something like, "You're gonna need to get some REAL shoes here 'pirty' soon, California. This here's FARMIN' country!"

"These Hooves Are Made For Walkin'...."

I was told we were coming here to FARM.....you know, to GROW things. More specifically, corn. Therefore, you can understand my confusion as many times I find myself wondering, "So, where the heck did all these ANIMALS come from?"

We have a very good friend named Jamie. Jamie is a super cool young guy with a cute family, and is also the town T-Ball coach. SWEET! Jamie is also a real-life "cowboy". I've never seen him wear a cowboy hat, though. When I've seen him driving cattle he has worn a baseball hat, which reminds me of the movie "City Slickers" and gives me a good laugh.

By the way, watching those guys drive cattle is quite a sight. Above the clouds of dust and sea of heads and horns rolling up and down, you see the drivers on horseback. The constant sound of moo-ing and thundering hooves is interrupted by an almost song. "H-ya, cow, h-ya....(whistle)...H-ya!" Beauty....I love it. It's hard to explain in words...It's like poetry all by itself.

I think Ben was a little excited to be involved in "the poetry". We have what's called "Feed Lots" on the farm which were built a few years ago. A feed lot is a place to bring the cattle after they've been grazing on the fields. They're very nice lots and since WE don't have cattle in them at the moment, we share the facilities with other ranchers. One of the purposes of the feed lot is for branding. A few days ago, Jamie and his brothers drove a bunch of calves into the feed lot and asked Ben to help them brand. ("Lovely.")

Jamie explained his great plan to Ben. "Okay, Ben we'll open the gate and let 'em out one at a time. You stand down there, by the stall and as they come towards you, you grab their head and THROW 'EM DOWN." (You need to realize that eventhough I said "calves", these BABY cows weight in at over 350 pounds!)

Okay, here's the deal (this information may have been useful to Jamie)....It's true that Ben played football in high school, BUT he was the QUARTERBACK (the guy trying to AVOID getting hit). His LITTLE BROTHER was the champion wrestler!

"Are You Just Gonna Let Him WALK ALL OVER You...?"

The first calf came running toward the stall and right at Ben, who was standing all wide and ready, like he was going to get tackled by one of the American Gladiators. As the calf started to run by, Ben grabbed its head, and turned it up and around, knocking them BOTH onto the ground. The other boys jumped on top of it and held it down while Jamie branded it. Everone got up, except Ben....he was the LAST to stand up. Even the calf stood up before he did. The calf jumped up and walked over Ben to get away. No, he did not step AROUND Ben, I meant it literally when I said he "walked over Ben to get away". Oh ya, but FIRST it kicked him.

Ben told me the story. As I look back now, I realize that maybe my Studly, Manly, Cow-wrestling husband was looking for sympathy from his sweetheart. I didn't realize this at that moment. Instead, when he told me, I started rolling around laughing and exclaiming, "Well, I'd probably do that too if you held me down and stuck a fire-hot branding iron on MY butt!"

A little insensitive? Yes. And I'm sorry. (I WOULD like to mention that we were BOTH laughing.) I was NOT, however, laughing this morning when he got into the shower and I saw the bruises. "Oh, sweetie!!" (Then I realized the error of my ways and knew for sure that I DO, in fact, have a Studly, Manly, Cow-Wrestling husband.) Just another opportunity to swoon and say, "My Hero!"